


talk to 'em spooky

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Choking, Claustrophobia, Emotional Roadshow, Fainting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, tyler is having a panic attack in a hamster ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7418119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re nervous,” Josh admits. “Did you take your pills?”</p><p>Tyler didn’t. Those stupid antidepressants only slow his brain down- he feels drunk, and he loses a half of his coordination because of that. Tyler knows a thing or two about slipping and falling onstage and into the crowd, and no one knows where he’ll manage to slip next time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	talk to 'em spooky

“We’re not fighting before the shows.”

Josh is right, and Tyler mentally rolls his eyes at his bandmate’s words.

“I slipped at the last show. And I fell,” Tyler huffs, rubbing a bruise on his hip; luckily, Josh doesn’t have the x-ray vision, and he can’t see that black and blue spot Tyler’s now hiding under his pants.

Josh looks a bit guilty, avoiding Tyler’s glance and trying to escape the epicenter of his anger; the bottle of water fell off _his_ drumset, and Tyler stepped right into the puddle.

“It was your water,” Tyler informs him grumpily as if Josh doesn’t know.

“Do you want me to stop drinking water during the shows or what?” Josh raises his eyebrow, a thick smear on his red make up on it.

“God, no!” Tyler groans. He doesn’t want Josh to pass out from the dehydration; dealing with an unconscious drummer is not the best case scenario. “People were laughing at me. I’ve read some comments.”

“People can always find a crap to laugh at,” Josh shrugs a bit carelessly.

“They’re our fans, Josh,” Tyler replies. “And I don’t want to look ridiculous for our fans.”

“Alright, I’m sorry for spilling the water, I feel terrible about that,” Josh sighs, taking his drumsticks and stretching his arms in front of his chest, twisting his wrists; Tyler hears a light crack as Josh does so.

“Stop,” Tyler nearly snaps at him.

“You’re nervous,” Josh admits. “Did you take your pills?”

Tyler didn’t. Those stupid antidepressants only slow his brain down- he feels drunk, and he loses a half of his coordination because of that. Tyler knows a thing or two about slipping and falling onstage and into the crowd, and no one knows where he’ll manage to slip next time. He doesn’t want to disappoint the Clique and crash down from the scaffolding.

“Tyler?”

“What?”

“You zoned out _again_ ,” Josh points out.

“Trying to keep my spirit up,” Tyler smirks, tying his black tie tightly; the fabric presses against his neck, and Tyler tugs at the knot once again, until it almost blocks his only way to breathe.

“It’s okay if you’re a bit uncomfortable with performing,” Josh says, and Tyler wants to hide from his pity. “I’m terrified, honestly, dude. We changed everything.”

Correct. Emotional Roadshow is a big thing for their team- even though Josh keeps muttering that he’d been feeling much safer hiding behind the drums. But Tyler just wants to show how _important and wonderful_ Josh is.

_‘Talk to ‘em, Spooky.’_

Though, Josh doesn’t thank him for that. He just takes it as a part of his job.

 _‘Make my demons shut up,’_ Tyler begs.

“I’m fine, yeah,” Tyler ignores the pain in his neck and loosens the tie.

Josh once confessed it was hard to play drums in a suit and tie, and he was really close to accidentally _choking_ himself. Tyler now re-plays that moment in his memory over and over again. Though, Tyler is mostly just getting nightmares about Blurryface, about his bloody-red eyes and black hands, and Tyler jolts awake panting, with the bedsheets wrapped around his aching neck.

The fans keep making those gifs of him grabbing at his throat and rubbing it hard, on the brink of squeezing. The black paint helps Tyler cover the sickening pattern of purple bruises _Blurry’s_ fingers leave on his tanned skin.

But the lack of oxygen is beautiful nonetheless. It makes Tyler see blossoming flowers and a kaleidoscope of bright sparkles when Blurry doesn’t let him breathe for too long.

Tyler’s brain will never work properly again.

There’s something aesthetic in being broken- Josh had to play one of the shows with a cracked fingernail, and Tyler noticed the drops of blood splattering all over the front of Josh’s white shorts, and even on his drums. Tyler couldn’t stop staring at that oddly _perfect_ picture, shivering and almost dropping his ukulele onto his own foot.

Sometimes Tyler is scared of himself.

 

***

The hamster ball thing is Tyler’s personal curse; he keeps doing that over and over again, during every show, even though he can say he hates it. He’s a bit claustrophobic, yeah, he just wants to prove he’s able to step over it. Tyler always starts pointless fights; though, he always has Josh to cover his back.

The crowd is cheering and screaming and waving their hands and phones. Tyler is already inside of the ball, he braces himself for the jump, rubbing his palms and chest; his heartbeat synchronizes with Josh’s drums, _thud, thud, thud,_ Tyler imagines he can see his heart moving under his white tank top.

_ReadysteadyGO!_

He knows he’s going to fall, and he does, his back hitting the soft red plastic, and fans yelling underneath him.

But Tyler’s thoughts are way too loud.

_‘You know you can’t take it.’_

“I can,” Tyler exhales, getting up and nearly losing balance again.

He runs, stumbling and crashing to his knees, hands trying to grab him, and some fans are already fumbling with the zipper on the hamster ball, but there is a good chance that this happens in Tyler’s imagination. Tyler tries to roll the ball sideways not to let them catch him.

_‘Now you’re afraid of them.’_

“I just want to stay safe,” Tyler thinks.

_‘You’ve lost your real face. You’re just playing a character.’_

The ball starts to shrink, Tyler raises his trembling hands up to fix something; he’s just a tiny boat in the middle of a stormy ocean, the fans keep throwing him from side to side like he’s just their toy.

Tyler’s mind is a maze; he thinks he sees a metaphorical light, but it’s just the illusion. There’s still enough oxygen, but the flow of the air can’t find its way into Tyler’s lungs, just hitting and torturing them, his clothes are soaked with sweat. Tyler struggles to breathe, his tongue clamped between his teeth as he tries to surf back to the stage. He’s huffing and slipping, noticing flashes of the phones all around him, muffled a little by the red walls of the hamster ball.

_‘Sooner or later, this was going to happen.’_

“Nothing’s happening,” Tyler isn’t sure if it’s still his internal dialogue.

Somebody pushes the ball, knocking Tyler off his feet again. He only sees a red dome above him, and he feels the wave of swarming fans, they are poking him through the bottom of the ball.

“Nothing’s happening,” Tyler repeats, rolling onto his side in attempts to get up again.

_‘You’re having a panic attack in a hamster ball, little claustrophobic piece of shit.’_

That’s something Tyler can’t deny.

Josh stops drumming or Tyler just can’t hear it through the sickening buzz in his head. Dizziness turns his surroundings into a red-black-white-yellow chaos, like those lasers from the ceiling are shooting right through him, cracking his ribs and leaving deep holes in his heart.

All his fears emerge all at once, and it hits him when he almost stands up- Tyler knows the fans are trying to hold him up, it’s _their_ part of the show, and the set is not over yet.

_‘You want me to choke you until you pass out, right?’_

“No,” Tyler shakes his head, his temples throbbing with pain. “I just want to sing.”

Blurry is so real that he occasionally replaces Tyler’s reflection in the mirror.

He can’t breathe. It’s not the one of his specific _things_ or kinks, no, he just wants to calm down and keep playing the show. The crowd gasps when Tyler sways and collapses again.

He _crawls_ back to the stage, shuddering and sweating and gritting his teeth when the ball rolls over the gap between the barricade and the side of the stage. The techs rush to him instantly, ripping the zipper open and dragging Tyler out of the hamster ball.

“Are you okay?”

Tyler inhales sharply and begins to cough, almost dry heaving, his swollen lungs are trying to leave his convulsing body.

“Take him backstage, come on!”

Josh is hunching over him, his hot palm on Tyler’s cheek, and Tyler manages to give him a stupid smile before he feels strong hands under his armpits; they lift him up and carry him bridal style, away from the ball, away from the audience.

But their show is still not over.

“’M sorry, Josh,” Tyler whispers and throws his head back, eyes closed.

 

***

“…what’s this? This crap on his neck?”

“It’s just a paint.”

“No, I mean, _these_ marks, they look like bruis- oh, hey, Tyler? Hey?”

Josh’s face is still blurry, Tyler recognizes him by the aureole of light pink curls and wild red eyeshadow. Tyler is sick of blurry faces of all kinds, to be honest.

Josh’s bare chest is stained with the black paint from Tyler’s hands.

“I just... want to play the show,” Tyler mutters stubbornly.

He finds himself lying on the hard couch, brown leather creaks slightly when he shifts to sit up; Josh is here to wrap his arm around Tyler’s shoulders and offer him a bottle of cold water.

Tyler gulps it down, it seems like the liquid just evaporates on the way down his throat, and his stomach still feels empty and painfully dry.

“Did I…” Tyler jerks forward, almost spilling the water all over himself. “Did I black out?”

Josh gives the crew members a sign to leave the dressing room.

“For like three minutes maybe?” Josh assumes.

Three minutes doesn’t sound that bad.

“Security guards couldn’t reach for you in time, when you, um, fell,” Josh continues, raising his hand up and brushing his fingers over Tyler’s exposed neck.

Tyler’s muscles tense as he feels Josh’s thumb rubbing circles over his Adam’s apple; Tyler lets out a small pained whimper, leaning forward and making Josh’s thumb press harder. He just craves to feel Josh’s hands on his neck, choking him, marking him, making his lungs deflate. Or maybe Blurry wants it, Tyler isn’t sure.

“What are you doing?!” Josh pulls his hand away in fright.

Tyler taps his finger on his knee and glances down at his battered Vans. He has to tie his shoelaces before climbing. Then he remembers he’s not allowed to climb tonight.

“Tyler?”

“I want to go back on stage,” Tyler swallows nervously. 

“You’ve just had a panic attack.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“Somebody stole the air,” Tyler replies, lazily stretching his arms above his head. “Emptiness suffocates me,” he shrugs limply.

“We can go and find paramedics,” Josh informs him.

“Such a waste of time.”

Tyler is sure Blurryface can’t choke him to death. Blurry just tries to control the stream of Tyler’s consciousness this a bit unhealthy way.

“Tyler,” Josh leans closer, the heat of his body is overwhelming; Tyler feels like his bones are melting, he wants to drown in the scent of Josh’s skin. Oh God, Tyler adores his perfume. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Let me finish the show and you’ll help,” Tyler says. He wishes the walls could stop swaying.

But Tyler still can hear the faint screaming of the crowd.

“Just no platforms tonight?” Josh offers.

“What?” Tyler nearly jumps up on the couch. “No, we’re not cancelling anything! We have to go back, our fans need it, I need it!” he shouts.

“Fine, fine- Ty, you’re shaking, calm down, okay?” Josh’s palm rubs Tyler’s back as he forces the air in and out through his nostrils, shoving the oxygen back into his stinging lungs.

He didn’t mean to scare Josh. Josh loves him. Tyler knows they’re going to have a long late night conversation in the bus, sharing the bunk. Josh will try to talk to Blurryface _again_ , to smoke him out of the basement of Tyler’s mind, and Tyler will pretend it’s working.

He’s certain he’s going to have a pretty bad migraine after the show, but at the moment he doesn’t think it’s something he can’t deal with.

He’ll probably regret it later.

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to write something angsty idk


End file.
